


First Name Basis

by K9Lasko



Category: NCIS
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Romance, Sorta Kinda Established Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 16:28:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6964381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K9Lasko/pseuds/K9Lasko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a month together, they're finally on a first name basis... for the most part.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Name Basis

**Author's Note:**

> Just some (hopefully) humorous Tibbs goodness to help lighten the mood. :)
> 
> The rating is a mild M.
> 
> Author's Note (Dated 8.18.16)  
> I realize I made a fairly massive canon mistake with this one, and for that I've given myself several headslaps. According to canon, Gibbs got BOTH of his names (first and middle) from his namesake, not just "Leroy," so considering that fact, some of the dialogue herein is rather irrelevant.

“Jethro,” Tony said out loud. “Jeth-row. Je-throw.”

His voice echoed in the concrete vault of the basement, nothing to absorb the sound but a bunch of odds and ends and random junk lining the walls, and there was the boat, of course — big and hulking in the small space. Tony sat on the third to last step and picked at the paper label wrapped around the beer bottle he'd been nursing for a good hour now.

Currently, Gibbs was measuring a length of wood and marking it with a lead pencil. But as was custom for this time and place and activity, he drank straight bourbon from a jar -- not beer. 

Tony watched him and continued to pick distractedly at the beer-bottle-sweat softened label. He used to sit home alone most evenings, watching television shows or old movies. Other evenings, he used to date a random selection of women, and if he got lucky, they even slept with him. He wasn't proud of it, but he valued a woman who had no hang-ups when it came to sex. There was nothing quite like a wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am session to let out the doubts, insecurities and pent-up frustrations -- and the carnal fantasies. But nowadays, and for what had now miraculously stretched into at least a month, Tony had gained a different kind of entertainment: watching a wooden boat get built. Oh, and sleeping with his boss. His boss, who was a man, which meant he was equipped with an entirely different set of levers and buttons.

If there was anything Tony loved more than sex, it was a challenge.

“Jethro,” Tony repeated, again. “Jeth-row.” He would keep saying it all night; he could be that annoying.

Gibbs let the tape measure retract with a snap. “Would you shut up?”

Grinning, Tony explained, “Just trying it on for size. Not used to being given such… liberties. Not from you, at least. I feel strangely… liberated.” He took a thoughtful gulp of his warming beer.

“Yeah, well, don’t wear it out,” Gibbs spoke gruffly, “or I’ll liberate you in a completely different way.”

“Oh,” Tony said. “Not sure if that’s some kind of sexy promise or a threat on my job.”

Gibbs simply gave him “the look” while he picked up a hacksaw. Tony was well acquainted with “the look,” and that combined with the hacksaw -- well, Tony was no idiot. He shut his mouth and attempted to appear contrite. But just when Gibbs began to line the saw up with the wood, Tony’s curiosity got the best of him, and he asked, “Isn’t that thing meant for cutting metal… Jethro?”

“Very good.” Gibbs began to saw through the wood with brisk back and forth strokes. He raised his voice to be heard over the noise. “But I’ve been doin' this long enough to know what tools I ought to be using.”

Truthfully, Tony didn’t give a shit about the hacksaw (as long as it wasn't sawing off any part of his person), or what it ought to be used for. When the spare end of the wood fell to the concrete floor with a loud plonk, he had to ask, going back to the original subject, assuming there had been one, “You’re not gonna take it back, are you? I mean, I’m just now getting used to this ‘Jethro’ thing.”

“It’s my name. We’re having sex.” Gibbs’ explanation was matter-of-fact, but also subtly sarcastic. “I’d like you to call me by my given name. But if that’s too much for you to handle, call me whatever.”

“Okay, 'Whatever', but wouldn’t that be ‘Leroy’, if we wanna get technical?” Tony pointed out.

Gibbs looked at him. "We ain't getting technical."

“Right. So, ‘Leroy’ is off limits.” He scratched at his head, a nervous tic of his.

“Look. Fucking you feels the same whether you call me ‘Jethro’ or ‘Caroline.’ Take your pick.” Gibbs looked his way and shook his head at Tony’s rare blush. He chuckled as he picked up the spare block of wood and set it aside. It was a rare, affectionate kind of laugh, and it made Tony want to get up off his duff and get physical in a very fun and mind-blowing way.

“I won’t say Caroline doesn’t have a certain ring to it,” Tony admitted. "Could go for that."

“Whatever makes you happy, DiNozzo.”

Tony smiled and turned his face away. He set the bottle down. There was only about an inch left in there anyway, and it had grown warm and skunky. “Your dad calls you Leroy,” he said.

Gibbs nodded.

“And we know who you got that name from,” Tony went on. “So naturally, I’m wondering about ‘Jethro.’ The possibilities are endless… Jethro Tull, cousin Jethro, Albert Jethro Chegwidden, Jethro Franklin, Jethro Cane…”

“Who?” Gibbs asked.

“I’m just wondering how your parents landed on ‘Jethro',” Tony said. “Humor me.”

Gibbs shrugged as he brushed away some sawdust. “It’s biblical.”

“As in Jesus? Mother Mary? Rosary beads? Nuns? Hail Mary, please forgive me for I have sinned?”

Gibbs huffed out another chuckle. Tony may not be the churchgoing type, but he'd certainly been brought up Catholic. “Old Testament.”

“Eye for an eye, then.” Tony nodded. "Wailing and gnashing of teeth. Parting of the Red Sea. The plagues. Turning water into wine."

"That last one is actually New Testament."

"Oh, you're a theologian now."

"No. I just happened to pay attention during Sunday school."

"Quaint." Tony smirked. "But, back to 'Jethro'."

“It’s biblical,” Gibbs simply repeated.

Silence reigned and Gibbs continued to work while Tony continued to sit and think.

Finally, the inevitable came: “So who was this biblical Jethro? I need details.”

“A shepherd."

“Everybody was a shepherd back then.”

“In specific," Gibbs went on patiently as he inspected the edge grain of one of the soon-to-be joints, "Moses’ father-in-law. A man with lots of rational advice but also the good sense to keep to himself, mostly.”

“Sounds vaguely familiar.” Tony decided to take the plunge and drink the rest of the warm beer. It hung in his throat and burned a bit. When he looked up he noticed Gibbs’ eyes were on him. “What?”

Gibbs shrugged as he distractedly picked up some sandpaper.

Tony stood and took a couple steps toward him. “If you were wondering, I’m honored.”

Gibbs’ hand faltered as he looked at Tony questioningly and wondered what he was getting at.

So Tony clarified, “Happy to be on a first name basis.”

“Of course.” Gibbs began to move the piece of sandpaper back and forth, like it was reflex. “Like I said.”

Boldly grabbing the sandpaper and tossing it aside, Tony said, “Like you said: ‘We’re having sex.’” He made air quotes as he squeezed himself between Gibbs and the boat. “But it’s a school night. Gotta hit the rack at some point. Right...? ...or?”

Gibbs waited, but he had to glance at where the sandpaper had been thrown.

“I feel like we’re on the brink of something here,” Tony finished, “You think so? It's been a month.”

Gibbs’ face, for the most part, remained impassive. "Not exactly a milestone, Tony. Maybe for you it is."

Sometimes Tony felt like Gibbs could read his mind, but this time, he wasn’t quite sure. He said, "You sure know how to make a guy feel good about himself." But he wasn't offended. It was a joke they both could laugh at. Tony waited.

Finally, he took the bait. “Brink of what?” Gibbs asked. Tony’s face and body were close now. He could feel the heat and smell the warm beer and hours old aftershave.

“Guess,” Tony teased.

“Hate guessing games, DiNozzo.”

“Going back to DiNozzo, huh?”

“Spanky,” Gibbs corrected.

Tony smiled, slowly. “Nice try.”

“You like ‘honeybuns' better?” Gibbs pressed into him. He put his mouth on Tony’s lips and tasted beer. “Bubble butt.” It came out muffled.

But Tony clearly understood. “Hey!” he protested.

“I happen to like—“ Gibbs’ hands traveled around and rested on Tony’s ass, giving it a good squeeze, “—your assets.” He yanked him forward.

Tony grunted, feeling the pressure on his groin. “Oh. Shit. This doesn’t feel very biblical, you know. Not that I’m complaining. I’m not complaining.”

“Brink of what…?” Gibbs repeated the earlier question in Tony’s ear, “Anthony?”

“Uh, you made me forget. Insanity?” Tony supplied. They stood together in that loose embrace. With his cheek pressed against the hot skin of Gibbs’ neck, Tony soon caved to spontaneous admission: “I think I feel something."

Always more straightforward than Tony, and not one to speak in metaphor, Gibbs didn't get it. "Hm?" he grunted.

"I have feelings... for you."

"Well that's good," Gibbs deadpanned.

"Love." There was a protracted pause. "You."

Gibbs' wryness bled into sarcasm. "Don't strain yourself."

"God help me. Don’t screw me over. Abby knows where you live and work.”

“Who says I haven’t made the same deal with her?”

“Point taken.” Tony head-slapped himself, while Gibbs smirked. "Ow."

They remained there, hugging one another in unrealized awkwardness, and otherwise enjoying each other’s warmth. It was cold and damp down here in the basement; winter howled loudly at the windows.

“Not gonna screw you over,” Gibbs said quietly, in his ear. “Not on purpose. You have my word.”

Tony pulled away then and pecked him on the cheek. It was a familiar gesture that lacked lust but had gained something else. “Thank you,” He backed toward the stairs with a grin, “but I think I’ve interrupted your tool-time enough for one night... Jethro.”

Gibbs watched him coolly, and not without some question. Usually, at this point, Tony would be expecting sex. At least a quickie to get the wiggles out. He second-guessed Tony’s motivations, but only briefly. It was stupid to think he had some ulterior motive. “Goin’ to bed?”

“Gonna wash up. Maybe, uh, watch the news,” Tony shrugged. “Don’t really wanna go back out in this storm.” He watched Gibbs pick up the hand planer and rub at a length of wood with his fingers. It looked smooth enough, but this man was a perfectionist. Tony knew he’d been dismissed -- not in a bad way, but in a Gibbs way. A Jethro way.

Nodding, Gibbs said, “Wouldn’t want you to.” He listened to Tony’s footsteps heading up the stairway. But then he paused whatever he was doing and asked, before Tony had a chance to disappear through that door, “You cold?”

Tony gave him a look. “Huh?”

“Cold in here. Even upstairs. Furnace has been on the fritz. Not running at full capacity.”

“Yeah, well, I noticed the chill. I accredited it to your sunny disposition,” Tony joked.

“There are extra blankets in the linen closet.”

“Linen closet?” Tony cocked his head.

“Yeah, it’s the closet with—“

“I know what it is, Jethro.”

“Then why’d you—“ Gibbs stopped himself. He smirked and turned back to his work. He heard the door creak, and soon after that footsteps up above him. The kitchen tap turned on. Then he could hear the television start up -- and he could imagine Tony shaking his head at it and murmuring something under his breath, always ready for an argument with the TV. Gibbs could hear that much, and imagine that much, and he found that he loved it.

The basement suddenly felt lonely. He was often alone down here, but that was the point. Down here in this basement, working with the wood and on his craft, he was alone but never lonely. Except for now. The boat sat there in accusing silence, and the cold began to bite through his wash-worn sweatshirt. He glanced at his watch on the work table, then threw back the remaining finger of Kentucky’s finest jar-bourbon. He left the hand planer on the table and headed for the stairs.

“Think I’ll make a fire!” Tony called down to him. “Saw you’ve got marshmallows!”

Gibbs increased his pace up the stairs. “Hold on, hold on. You’ll burn the damn house down!”

“Where’s the lighter fluid?”

“DiNozzo!”


End file.
